


Interlude: You Be Thelma, I'll Be Louise

by just_another_tinker



Series: Go Ugly Early [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Crimes & Criminals, F/M, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Road Trips, Witness Protection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-01-05 23:00:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18375845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_another_tinker/pseuds/just_another_tinker
Summary: “We’re lost.”“We’re not lost.”“Oh, really? Wanna tell me where we’re at, then?”“If I had to gander, I’d say a highway.”Steve sighed. “Tony.”“Hey, you’re the one with the map. If anyone’s to blame here, it’s your faulty directions.”---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------After their recent absorption into witness protection, Steve and Tony make a somewhat (very) illicit cross county road trip to find the rest of their crew.Basically, all the fluff you didn’t know you needed after the events of Go Ugly Early. Also known as, the only fluff you will get before the sequel, Come Pretty Late, is published. It’s going to be a doozy.





	1. Naples, Florida - Bucky Barnes

As always, it was the heat that woke him. Cloying and sticky, weighing over him like a blanket. It wasn’t as if New York hadn’t had its blazing days; he could still remember spending most of his childhood summers cooking on the asphalt next to Steve. But here, it was like the humidity had the whole state in a chokehold.

He knew he shouldn’t complain. Air conditioning had been one of the perks when he moved into the single condo. And as Florida’s mild winter faded away, it became less of a perk, and more of a necessity. But he had yet to turn it on. It was if he had a sick fascination with lying in the sweltering heat, slowly melting. It gave him something to do, at least.

Bucky shifted to his stomach, eyes fluttering open long enough to catch a glimpse at his alarm clock. _Alarm clock,_ he laughed to himself. Never did he ever picture himself living anywhere that had one of those. Years ago, he would have thought an alarm clock was an unimportant luxury. He had been used to snoozing in damp alleyways and abandoned factories. Not exactly an ideal life for an alarm clock. Now, he couldn’t look at it without hearing Tony’s voice in his head.

_“This is an insult to technology. Who the hell uses these anymore?”_

Red numbers stared back at him. _7:23 A.M._

Bucky frowned. It was more sleep than he got yesterday. His body was finally acclimating to this hell hole, finally accepting his current situation.

Ignoring his lingering drowsiness, Bucky hopped out of bed and padded over to the bathroom, the cool tiles a small reprieve against his feet. He ambled straight over to the mirror and glared at his own reflection, hoping it would magically spill all the answers he was looking for. His hair brushed over his shoulders. _Maybe it’s finally time to get it cut._ But he knew he wouldn’t. It he did, it would be yet another concession. Another reminder of his past life that would slip away, and here, alone, it was all he had.

Outside, he could already hear the rest of the neighborhood waking up, rising with the sun. It wouldn’t be long before the street was filled with the buzz of lawnmowers and the screaming laughter of children.

_Just another day in paradise._

78 days. That’s how long he’d been here. He wasn’t sure why he bothered counting. Maybe it was his subconscious trying to rationalize his current situation. 78 days into an indefinite sentence. _Not bad._

He finished in the bathroom and continued his journey to the kitchen, pausing only to slip on a pair of underwear he passed on the floor. It was routine that had him flicking on the coffee maker, routine that had him reaching into the fridge for a breakfast of yesterday’s cold leftovers, routine that had him sitting in silence, listening to the faint clicking of the ceiling fan above him.

Weekends were always the worst. At least during the week, he could work his frustrations out by banging around in the scrap yard he worked at. If he could appreciate anything about this prison sentence, it was his job. _To fit in,_ his handler had told him. At first, he’d been furious at the prospect. But now, he found himself looking forward to a curmudgeonly boss who never gave him passing glances, and an empty scrap yard that didn’t ask any questions.

Bucky sighed, dropping the cold pizza he was attempting to eat and walked back to his room. He opened his closet and threw on a pair of shorts, grabbing a fitted long sleeve. He’d have to get his glove from the front room before he went outside. Just another pleasure of living here – dealing with triple digit temperatures all while hiding a very recognizable metal prosthetic. _Damn you, Stark._ Bucky sighed, throwing the shirt on.

Before leaving, Bucky paused, giving a last glance to the corner of his closet. His go-bag that had been packed immediately, as soon as he first stepped foot in his new house. Stuffed full with clothes, loose cash, and some pocket knives. He’d even managed to finagle a fake I.D. from some kids at the local college. He’d itched to go out and buy a gun – criminal or not, it was laughably easy to get his hands on one down here – but he had held off. He wasn’t going to give his FBI handler an excuse to raid his house, or worse, have him pick up and move. Besides, he knew his neighbor had one in his garage; it would be just as easy for him to swipe it on his way out.

Every day he looked at that bag. Every day, weighing his chances. There had even been a few instances where he’d picked it up and brought it to the front door. But he never crossed the threshold. He could never make those final steps.

Bucky wasn’t exactly sure why. He could scream himself hoarse with all the reasons that he should just run. He didn’t know where he would go, but it didn’t matter. Each step out there was one step closer to finding the rest of his family. Any punishment the FBI could dole out would pale in comparison to the long days he spent in an empty house, wondering if everyone he loved was alive. He’d been so angry with Tony, with _Steve,_ for making that deal with Fury. How could they? Could they not see that even if HYDRA didn’t kill them, this would?

Bucky sucked in a sharp breath, rubbing a hand over his face. Images of Steve’s blood staining his hands flashed through in his mind. Solemn news reports of the lives lost at the NYPD headquarters, shaky YouTube footage of Stane ripping apart SI. Natasha and Sam had been at the NYPD. He even knew that Clint and Tony had been with Stane, their familiar frames charging into the building showing up in a few of the videos.

None of that was supposed to happen. None of it was part of the plan; none of it was promised to them if they cooperated with the FBI. Bucky had demanded, begged, _pleaded,_ with his assigned handler.

_Just tell me they’re alive. I’ll do anything you want, just tell me. Please, please, please._

But he’d gotten nothing. The only thing he did get, which gave him a semblance of grim satisfaction, was his first handler putting in his two weeks. _It wasn’t my fault Brad couldn’t take a joke._ Of course, it was just his luck that Brad’s replacement was stonier than him.

The only solace he got was through Tony. Bucky knew at least he was alive. It was the only time that he’d found himself ecstatic that Stark was a public figure. With the scandal surrounding Stane, there was no way the FBI could keep Tony Stark out of the limelight. He’d appeared in a few press conferences right after everything happened. Some bullshit about how he would be taking some time for the company, working alongside the government to clean up the mess that Stane started. _Rebuilding_ was the word he used.

Bucky had spent hours, watching and rewatching Stark’s interviews, looking for anything that would give him a clue about the rest of the crew. Searching his facial expressions, how he moved his hands, even focusing on what he was wearing. But he never found anything. Stark was carefully tame in front of the cameras, giving nothing away, giving no sense of anything being wrong. Dancing through each interview like it was a normal Tuesday for him.   

Bucky had been furious, livid with Tony in a way that he hadn’t been since he first met the man. How could he act that way, how could he just _move on?_ After everything that had happened, and the man looked as if he didn’t give grief more than a second glance.

It was just over a few weeks later that it hit him. Bucky had been stewing in bed, cursing the whole Stark name when the idea came to him. He tumbled out of bed and rushed over to his laptop, pulling up the most recent interview with the engineer. It was the same as the first thirty times he had seen it. Nothing more than a simple statement about how Stark Industries was working with the city to fix the damage done by Stane. How he would be personally donating in honor of the employees that he lost. It was quick, nothing more than ten minutes. In and out, no questions. _No questions._

And then Bucky was laughing, sporadic chuckles that left him wheezing as tears slipped down his face. How could he not have seen?

_He’d stuck to the cards._

There was no one out there, no man, woman, or child that could make Tony Stark behave. Not even Steve could, on his best day. But here the man was, a man that Bucky had seen prowl into past meetings like a predator, armed only with a cutting smile and a wicked tongue, standing almost docile in front of the cameras. No snide comments, innuendos, anything. Just the cards. And after proof that everything that could have gone bad did, Tony Stark continued to be a dancing monkey for the FBI.

And to Bucky, that was all he needed. Tony Stark got up every day, just to _behave._ And there was no reason for him to go that. _Unless._

Unless he didn’t want to piss the FBI off. Unless his family was still out there, _alive,_ and Tony wanted to keep it that way.

And if Tony Stark could bend the knee, so could he.

Bucky gave a final glance to the duffle in the corner of his closet before turning the light off and shutting the door. He paused, standing in the stillness of the condo before shaking his head. There was no need to delay the inevitable. He knew where he was going to end up.

Bucky huffed, grabbing his coffee mug from the kitchen table before stepping outside. He ignored the fresh wall of heat that he was met with, walking over to his garage. He yanked the door open, the aging metal groaning in protest, the familiar sight of a rundown Chevy meeting him. He wasn’t sure why he was so enamored with this hunk of junk. He wasn’t anywhere near Tony’s level of expertise, and while he enjoyed the occasional tinkering, he wasn’t sure why he ended up messing with the vehicle almost every day. It wasn’t as if anything really needed to be fixed – as least, anything he could handle on his own. He would just take things apart and put them back together, his hands itching for some level of familiarity he got when he cleaned his guns.

He was about half way through taking apart the carburetor when he heard footsteps approach him.

“Good God, are those cargo shorts?”

Bucky stilled, body frozen over the open guts of the car. He knew that voice. But it couldn’t be him, could it? _No, you’re imagining things._ “What’s it to you?” he grumbled, going back to fiddling with the part.

A snort. “Nothing, I just didn’t know that seeing you in shorts was on my bucket list, until now.”

He couldn’t have imagined that. Bucky spun around, eyes wide. There, leaning against the garage frame, with the biggest shit eating grin known to man, was Tony Stark. Before he could even say anything a second figure was stepping around the corner, wearing a familiar mop of dishwasher blonde hair and a crooked smile.

_Steve._

Bucky was moving before he could think twice, gathering his friend in his arms. He felt Steve wrap just as tight around him, a familiar heat engulfing him.

_“I’m not going anywhere without him.”_

_“That was your agreement.”_

He’d left him. Left him bleeding in the sand without looking back once. Left him injured and alone while FBI agents hauled him into an unmarked van and brought him south. That last glimpse of Steve, pale and bloody, was the only thing that followed him there. It lingered in his thoughts and haunted his dreams every day and night. He remembered Sarah Rogers whispering in his ear, _“You take care of my boy, you hear me?”_

It was in this moment that he thought that he should have left a long time ago. Ditched his new identity to head back north, try and find Steve and the others earlier. Here, feeling the familiar warmth of his friend made him question how he was able to last this long without him.

 _“Buck,”_ he heard Steve say and Bucky clenched his eyes shut. _This is real, it’s real, he’s here, he’s alive._ Everything would be okay now. Steve was here; Steve would know what to do. He could feel his heartbeat start to slow down and his body relax, hearing faint whispers of Natasha chastising him for worrying too much. But then, he froze. 

_“That was your agreement.”_

Bucky jolted, jerking Steve away from him. His eyes were already darting around, looking for hidden cameras, FBI agents wearing plainclothes, just waiting to take them away. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Well, we were headed to Disney World, but we decided to take the scenic route.” Tony shrugged.

Bucky shot the man a glare. _What the hell happened to behaving?_

“Why do you think we’re here?” Steve asked, dropping a comforting hand on his shoulder. “We’re here for you, Buck.”

“We’re leaving?” he couldn’t help but ask, desperately.

“Not exactly.” Steve rubbed a hand against the back of his neck. Bucky thought of his go-bag collecting dust in his closet. Bucky was ready. Steve knew he would be ready. _So then why aren’t we leaving?_

“What do you mean? You went to get Tony, and now you’re here for me, right?”

“Tony and I came here together,” Steve answered. “We’ve _been_ together.”

“What?”

“We’ve been at the same safe house,” Steve shrugged, a light flush dusting his cheeks.

“It’s been such a hardship,” Tony groaned, throwing an arm over Steve’s shoulders.

“ _Tony,”_ Steve chastised, turning a deeper red.

Bucky’s eyes darted between the pair of them, working out what Steve had said. “You’ve been at the same safe house?”

“Yeah,” Steve nodded.

“What makes you so special?” he couldn’t help but blurt.

_Why do you get that, but I don’t? Why do I have to stay here and suffer?_

“I don’t know, Buck,” sighed Steve, eyes soft. Understanding as always. Bucky hated it. He opened his mouth to argue, but was cut off by another voice.

“Oh, Sebastian! You’re up early!”

Bucky groaned, shoulders slumping at the shrill tone. He sucked in a deep breath before turning to face the street. He jerked his hand in some semblance of a wave to the older woman across the street. “Good morning, Mrs. Danowitz,” he grit out. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Steve’s shoulders shake with laughter.

“Are these your friends?” she continued, blatantly ignoring his tone, taking another step across the street. She was wearing yet another atrocious outfit, a horrifying tracksuit with an equally vile print to go with it. He knew that she was probably getting ready to stomp down the street to pick up the rest of her gang, the gaggle of ladies swooping through the neighborhood like a pack of Botox-ridden wolves. _Walking club my ass,_ he thought to himself. Those nosy busy-bodies just needed a cover to snoop on their neighbors. Bucky usually hid out in his house to avoid the group at all costs, but it seemed that they had caught on. Mrs. Danowitz was probably waiting in her own house, peeking out from her blinds until she saw him step outside.

“No,” he snapped, shooting a dirty glance to his chuckling companions. “They’re nobody.”

“Oh, _Sebastian,”_ Tony huffed dramatically. “Don’t be such a putz.”

“You know how many ways I could kill you with my bare hands?” he hissed at the smaller brunette.

“Bucky,” Steve sighed.

“No, no, no,” Tony corrected. “It’s Sebastian, now,” he chuckled.

“I didn’t ask for this,” Bucky snapped.

“Oh, _you_ didn’t ask for this? What do you think I’ve been listening to him giggle about the whole way here?” replied Steve.

“Like you didn’t have any comments to make,” Tony pouted, slapping at Steve’s bicep before turning to look back at Bucky. “I have no idea what the FBI was thinking, giving you this identity, but what a present it was. Jury’s still out on if we think of you more as a 15th century vampire or a gay illusionist.”

Bucky groaned, wishing suddenly that he was still alone. A quick patter of rubber against the pavement and an overwhelming stench of perfume was all the warning he got before Mrs. Danowitz joined their party.

“Hi there,” she smiled, batting her fake eyelashes wildly. “I’m Susan, I live right across the street,” she said with a point.

“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” Steve replied with a Boy Scout smile, that was sure to have Mrs. Danowitz quivering in her shape-up sneakers. “I’m Chris.”

Tony, of course, who flirted with anything with a heartbeat, sidled up next to Steve, flashing Bucky’s neighbor a wink. “And I’m- ”

“Gaylord!” Bucky blurted.

“I-I’m sorry?” Mrs. Danowitz asked.

“Yeah, his name’s Gaylord,” Bucky smirked. “His family’s very French; a family of illusionists, would you believe? Very eccentric, but I don’t know, I think he pulls it off.”

Steve had to turn around to hide his smile, his shoulders shaking slightly as be barely contained his laughter. Tony’s face was carefully blank, but Bucky could see his eyes narrowing slightly, his nostrils flaring.

“Oh,” Mrs. Danowitz murmured. “What a very… unique name.”

“Quite,” Tony bit out, his smile razor sharp.

“Well, I just _had_ to stop over and say hi. You know, Sebastian’s been here for some time, but I’ve never seen him with any guests. I barely see him at all, except when he’s working on that car!”

Bucky blatantly ignored the look he got from Steve.

“That’s our Sebby!” Tony chuckled, slapping Bucky hard on the back. “All work and no play.”

“But he is just a sweetheart, the girls and I all adore him. I keep telling him that we’d love to have him over – we all play bridge every Saturday night – but he always has plans.”

“Well, don’t worry about that, ma’am,” Steve answered, grinning mischievously. “We can’t stay, so Seb here is free for bridge tonight. It’s very nice of you to invite him over; he really does need to get out more.”

Danowitz squealed in response. “Oh, it’s a shame you all can’t stay, but don’t you worry. The girls and I will take good care of him.” She cast a final heated look towards Bucky. “I’ll see you tonight. Seven o’clock, don’t be late!”

“Mrs. Danowitz,” Bucky started, but was cut off.

“How many times do I have to tell you, call me Susan. Now, don’t worry about bringing anything, just yourself is more than enough,” she leered, before patting his backside, getting _way_ to close to his ass for comfort. “I’ll go tell the girls. They’ll be so excited!” And with that she sped off down the block, pep and he step, no doubt to brag to the other lonely housewives that she finally managed to bag the big one.

Bucky shot Steve a cold stare. “Forget what I said. I’m killing you first.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Steve answered with an eye roll.

“You make me go over there, I will not be held accountable for my actions.”

“What are you gonna do?” laughed Tony. “Murder the broad? We’re supposed to be keeping a low profile here.”

“Please, her death wouldn’t even make the front page. Want to know what the headline last week? Some guy shanked someone with a fork over a baked potato. _A baked potato!_ I’m telling you, these people are fucking nuts. And that’s coming from me.”

“C’mon, Buck, it can’t be that bad here.”

“Steve, last month I saw people luring a black bear away with waffles. I can’t make this shit up.”

“Good God, why does anyone come to this hell hole?” Tony asked.

“You’re not helping,” Steve frowned. “People come here for vacation all the time, so it could be a lot worse, right? I mean, people would kill to live in a neighborhood like this.” The blonde was giving him a hopeful look, something that just screamed ‘ _please agree with me so I don’t spend the next few weeks lying awake in guilt over you’._

 _Tough shit,_ Bucky thought to himself. He didn’t much feel like making Steve feel better today.

“You know what I’d kill for? A hurricane.”

“Buck,” Steve scolded.

Across the street, he caught wind of Mrs. Danowitz heading back their way, her friends trailing on either side of her. “Let’s go inside,” he said, pushing Steve towards the door. He wasn’t about to let them cause any more damage than they already had. He couldn’t help but punch at Tony’s shoulder when the man threw one last wave across the street and yelled, “Have a great day, ladies!”

Bucky opened the front door and ushered the pair inside. He turned to see both Steve and Tony take in their surroundings, checking over his new house carefully. Bucky frowned at their silence.

“So.”

“So?” Steve asked.

“So, what’s the play? When are we leaving?”

Steve and Tony shared a look. That definitely didn’t bode well. “Well, we’re not,” Steve started, carefully, as if trying not to spook a wild animal.

“Not what?”

“Uh, leaving. Together. We’re, uh, we’re not,” Steve stammered. “You’re not leaving with us.”

 _“What?”_ And suddenly, Bucky was furious. Furious about the whole thing; about their stupid arrangement, about stupid Florida and stupid Mrs. Danowitz, about stupid Steve and Tony. “You’re just going to leave me here?” he hissed. “I’ve been here for months doing what I was damn told, and now I have to stay here? While you and him get to fucking come and go as you please?”

“Buck- ”

“Why the fuck are you even here then? Come to rub it in? You snooze you lose, sorry your boyfriend isn’t a fucking celebrity?” Bucky shouted. “I didn’t even know you were alive, asshole, I _still_ don’t know if everyone else is alive. And now you’re here just to taunt that I still can’t know.”

“Easy,” Tony interjected, standing between the two men. “We get that you’re pissed.”

“You haven’t _seen_ pissed yet.”

“Just, relax for a second, and let us explain.” When Bucky didn’t answer, Tony continued. “Steve isn’t scot free, he’s supposed to still be on lockdown, just like you. Why Fury decided he could stay with me is anyone’s guess. But this plan on coming to find you was already in the works before Steve showed up. He’s only here because I knew he would tie himself to my front bumper if I tried to leave him at home.”

“I need to see that everyone’s okay,” Steve admitted.

“And they are,” Tony added, looking back at Bucky. “I’ve already scanned through the FBI servers. Everyone’s fine.”

A weight that he didn’t know he was carrying was suddenly lifted from his chest. _Fine, they’re all fine._ He had had his suspicions, but the confirmation was all he needed. They were all alive. Alone, but alive.

“What if I need to see that everyone’s okay?” Bucky questioned. _Nat, let me see Nat._ “I just had a check in last week. It should be a while before I have another one.”

Steve gave him a remorseful look. “I’m sorry, Bucky.”

“I need more than a sorry,” Bucky pleaded. “Take me with you.”

“We can’t- ”

“We can’t take you with us _now,”_ Tony tried to placate.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, that tucking tail is exactly what the FBI is expecting,” Tony continued. “We need to tread carefully here. When Steve first showed up at my place about a month ago, we were prepared to make a move for everyone. But we decided against it; as much as we needed to see you, we wanted to be smart about it. The FBI has everyone on different check in schedules, making it almost impossible for all of us to drop off the map without someone noticing immediately. Fury’s not an idiot; I’m sure he’s already considered every way to stop us from making a play.”

“And isn’t that what you’ve already done?” Bucky questioned. “If Fury’s so smart, then how the hell did you get here without raising any red flags?”

Tony shrugged. “Because I’m smarter.”

“So then why can’t we all leave now?”

Tony’s face twisted suddenly, as if ashamed. Bucky watched as Steve ran a hand down Tony’s spine in comfort. “Fury’s got everyone too spread out,” Tony confessed. “I don’t think we would have enough time to snatch everyone before he caught on, even assuming that I magically get around everyone’s check in schedule. And even if we did manage to get everyone,” he sighed. “If you all go missing, my door is the first one Fury’s knocking down. Not that I wouldn’t take the risk, but I don’t have an exit strategy for the rest of you that you wouldn’t end up paying for down the road.”

As much as it pained him, Bucky could understand that. As tantalizing as it was to just take his family and run, there was no way that they could do it forever. It wasn’t the same as hiding in a dumpster from some beat cop, this was the FBI. And for as powerful as Tony was, there was no way he could keep them at bay and protect the rest of them at the same time. It didn’t matter how long they could hold out; all roads would eventually lead to a super max.

Bucky found himself nodding sullenly. “Yeah,” he replied quietly. “I just, I, uh- ”

“I know,” said Steve. “You think I want to leave you here? You think I don’t just want to go as well?”

Bucky nodded again. Steve had spent years keeping them corralled, keeping them _safe._ Now his flock had spread thin, and there was nothing he could do about it.

“We’re not saying no,” Tony continued. “We’re just saying not now. Steve and I got everyone into this mess, but you know that we’re going to get you out, right?”

 _Yes._ He could sit there and be furious about his current life, but it sure beat what he thought was going to happen. Steve and Tony, they’d gotten them all out, they’d gotten them all out _alive._ If there was ever a slim chance that he would see the rest of the crew again, he’d bet on those two.

“Besides,” Tony added. “I come bearing gifts.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a slim phone before chucking it into Bucky’s outreached hand.

Bucky gave it a once over. “This come with Angry Birds?”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Just thought that you might want an untraceable phone. You know, in case you want to make some illicit calls to some illicit folks.”

Bucky opened the contacts listed in the phone and smiled. “Is everyone getting one of these?”

“Maybe,” Tony grinned.

“It’s just something that will have to tide us over until Tony and I come up with a better plan,” said Steve. “We’ll be able to keep tabs on each other, even though we’re… not at home.”

“Think of it as a first step. I know it’s not a lot,” Tony shrugged.

“It’s great,” Bucky interjected, fingers curling protectively around the small device. “Really, it is.”

He caught a small, surprised smile grace Tony’s face. “Good. I’m glad.”

“And you sure the FBI can’t track this?”

“No need to be insulting,” Tony huffed. “The only worry here is if you can keep it hidden during your spot checks.”

“No need to be insulting,” Bucky repeated. “I’ve been smuggling shit since I was in middle school.”

Steve frowned. “I thought you said you didn’t do that.”

“You’re cute when you’re naïve,” Bucky snorted. “How do you think I was able to pay for all our school lunches.”

 He could see Steve’s brow furrow, no doubt another argument getting rearing to go, but Tony grabbed at the blonde’s hand. “As hot as I find it when you go domestic, we don’t have time for this. Santa’s got a few more presents to drop off.”

Bucky’s chest clenched, already picturing the pair of them walking back out the door, leaving him behind. _Stay, stay, stay._ “Right,” he replied, instead. “I get it.”

“Don’t worry,” Tony soothed. “We’ll get these to everyone else as soon as possible. And then, once we’re all set up, we’ll start talking about step two.”

“Sounds fair.”

“Just, wait a little bit before using it, yeah?” Tony added, nodding at the sleek device in Bucky’s hand. “I’m more than confident that Steve and I will move fast enough before the FBI catches wind of anything, but, you know, just to be safe.”

Bucky nodded. “How long?”

“At least until after another check in with the fuzz,” Tony said with a shrug. “If your handler doesn’t act like anything’s off at your next meeting, then you should be good. I just don’t want to risk anything.”

“Right,” Bucky drawled. “No more risk than an illegal road trip with your criminal mastermind of a boyfriend.”

Tony’s face went carefully blank before he replied softly, “I would never half-ass anything that would put our family at risk. You know that.”

A new feeling flittered across his chest. _Pride._ “I know.”

“Good,” Tony answered, seemingly satisfied.

“We should go,” Steve said quietly, as if he himself didn’t want to hear it.

Bucky locked eyes with his friend. He gave the blonde a silent plea, one that was mirrored right back at him.

_Stay._

_Don’t ask me stay._

Bucky finally looked away, his cheeks burning in shame. “Right,” he said. “You should keep moving.”

“I’m sorry,” Tony said suddenly. “I just, I know that, uh… I’ll fix it. I promise.”

“Okay.” _I know you will._

Steve hugged him tightly at his front door, fingers digging into his back, his head tucked neatly into Bucky’s neck. “I’ll miss you, Buck,” he whispered. “I’ll come back for you. _Soon.”_

 _Soon._ It still wasn’t enough, but it was a hell of a lot better than indefinite. And that was enough for him to work with. Besides, he had a feeling it was going to be a lot easier to get through the day, his new phone a comforting weight in his pocket. He pulled away and the first time in a long time, felt cold.

Bucky turned to face Tony, the man giving him a careful look. Bucky sighed, rolling his eyes slightly as he gathered Tony into his arms as well. He could feel the man stiffen slightly before going completely lax. Bucky snorted. “Take care of him, alright?”

Tony smiled as he stepped back. “If you insist.”

“I do.”

“Well, I live to serve. Now, paint on a smile and be on your best behavior. Steve and I will be back soon.”

“If you insist.”

Tony’s laugh echoed through his entryway as Bucky watched him and Steve step outside. “Catch you later, Barnes,” the brunette said over his shoulder as the pair made their way to their car. “Have fun at bridge!”

Steve shoved at the smaller man, smiling madly. “C’mon, _Gaylord._ We’ve got quite the trip ahead of us.”

* * *

It was about a few weeks later when he heard a small chirp. He had taken to keeping his smuggled phone on his bedside table, despite the red flags surrounding the contraband. He knew he shouldn’t keep it in plain sight, regardless of how incompetent his FBI handler was, but he couldn’t seem to put it down. It became a part of him, a lifebuoy that got him through each passing day.

He was laying in bed, staring up at a too familiar ceiling when he heard it. At first, he thought it might have been a bug from outside, but he turned in time to catch the screen lit up. Bucky scrambled across the mattress, getting tangled in pillows and sheets as he reached for the phone.

From: Natasha _  
_**Need a bridge partner?** **– 23:07**

Bucky dropped back down on his mattress and grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's Florida life is 1000% inspired by B99. 
> 
> Also, yes, I absolutely used the MCU actor names as their witness protection identities. I have the creativity of a walrus, don't @ me. 
> 
> Also also, fun fact, both news stories Bucky mentions ACTUALLY HAPPENED. Y'all, Florida is crazy.
> 
> Contact me at:  
> Tumblr: just-another-tinker  
> Email: just.another.tinker@gmail.com


	2. Monticello, Arkansas - Sam Wilson

The sun beat down on his back like an old, forgotten friend. Sure, New York had its fair share of harsh summers, but down here, the sun was a different beast entirely. He strolled down the street, smiling as he passed the screaming children roughhousing in their front yard. The walk home from work was long, but Sam never took the car. As routine as the route was, there was something about it that never bored him. Maybe it was hearing the children playing every day, maybe it was the smell of freshly cut grass, or even the Sun heating his skin.

After all these years, and it was like nothing had changed. If Sam closed his eyes long enough, he probably wouldn’t be sure what year it was. Even with his eyes open, there was still a good chance that he’d be confused. The South was like that, though.

Of course, Arkansas wasn’t a perfect picture of his childhood. He’d grown up in the outskirts of New Orleans, a Louisiana boy, through and through. Him, and his Mama and gaggle of sisters. It seemed like only yesterday that he was the one laughing in his front yard, chasing his friends around in the summer heat. It was quieter up here, less foot traffic, but it was still familiar. He guessed he should count his blessings that he ended up somewhere like here.

He would say it was like coming home, but… it wasn’t. This environment was familiar, _comforting,_ like slipping on a favorite worn-down sweatshirt after pulling it from the dryer. Like ice clinking against each other within a glass of sweet tea, or a callused finger running along the grip of a gun. But it wasn’t home.

Sam wasn’t exactly sure when this picture _stopped_ being home. He wasn’t exactly sure how he _let_ this not be home. For a large part of his life, this was all he had, but it was also all he wanted. How he’d ended up in New York, how he ended up calling New York _home,_ well, should never have happened.

In any other lifetime, he was sure he would have never ended up there.

His Mama would say it was fate, _destiny,_ that got him up there. She’d always been a superstitious woman, but then again, almost everyone was down here. There was always a higher power at work, whether it be God or the Devil himself. Christianity, hoodoo, witchcraft, anything really, had a part to play down here. But Sam never paid that any mind. He didn’t believe in fate. He believed in people. People had driven him north, and people had brought him back down South.

Growing up in a house full of women had been difficult; he’d become the man of the house when he was just seven. His father had died overseas, fighting – he still remembers his mother’s face when she told him. Remembers the tears down her face when she whispered, _“Daddy’s gone.”_

He could have cried along with her, but there was no point. He had to pick up where his dad left off. His father had gone off to war for the wellbeing of this family and had died for that as well. Now, it fell to Sam to further the tradition.

His mother wore the same tearful face when he told her he was joining the Air Force. He could see her pride, but it was only a mask, to hide the lingering fear of _fate,_ the chance that her son would end up just like her husband. She’d tried to get him to consider college, but it was a moot point. Down this far, people only went to college to get away, to escape, only to end up right back where they started. He didn’t want to end up like the rest of them, didn’t want to turn out like the ones that _“lived here all my life, son.”_

 _“Life is not about obligation,”_ his mother had told him. _“People out there, they wake up everyday for it. For duty, wealth, power. That’s not how anyone should live. The journey of life has one gift to give, and that’s bliss. Finding happiness in this world we live in, that’s what makes it worth it.”_

 _Bliss._ Fate. Destiny. He didn’t have the time, nor the care to sit around and wait for it. For now, obligation would have to do. So, he left, wanting to provide for his family and to carry on the memory of his father.

The Air Force was a blessing. The structure, the comradery, the pride of it all. He could see how his father had ended up here. The idea of fighting for a higher purpose sang to him and he was immediately addicted.

And then he met Riley.

Riley was everything that he hated. He was loud and fast, talked like a hyena and smiled like a shark. He had a certain air about him – one that he’d notice again when first meeting Tony Stark – that had his metaphorical hackles rising. Growing up, there was always an unspoken rule about being wary of city folk. But, considering he grew up in an area that had a continuous history of being wary against people like him, he never paid in any mind. Besides, he’d met plenty of other people in basic training and while deployed that hailed from up North that he never had any issues with. But he did with Riley.

It seemed that whenever he turned, Riley was always there. Running into each other in the hallways, working the same shifts. Sam was almost convinced the other man was doing it on purpose; like he could sense Sam’s displeasure, and used it for his own fun. It wasn’t until Sam found out that Riley had made the cut to join a covert para-rescue team that he’d lost it. He’d marched right up to his new CO and given him a piece of his mind.

_“Look at my record. Look at how long I’ve been here, how many times I’ve jumped. I’ve worked my ass off to get this opportunity! And what, he can just waltz in and only need to flash a smile to get the call?”_

His CO, with his blatant disregard, had decided to pair them up as punishment.

Working with Riley was a nightmare. He was young and carefree, joking around from mission to mission, barely skating by each time without a court martial. His uniform was almost never regulation, he was late to shifts, he postured with the other men, he fought against their orders. The only thing he was good at was jumping – then again, anyone could fall, if they put their mind to it.

He had a sick sense of humor, as well. Right before each jump, he would whistle _The Battle Hymn of the Republic,_ under his breath. That was, until he started singing, new twisted words replacing the melody.

 _There was blood upon the risers, there were brains upon the chute,_  
_Intestines were a-dangling from his paratroopers suit,_  
_He was a mess, they picked him up, and poured him from his boots,_  
_And he ain't gonna jump no more!_

 _Gory, gory, what a hellu'va way to die,_  
_Gory, gory, what a hellu'va way to die,_  
_Gory, gory, what a hellu'va way to die,_  
_He ain't gonna jump no more!_

The other men always seemed to get a kick out Riley’s antics, but never Sam. It was if everything was a joke to him, that this job was an endless summer vacation. Sam submitted complaint after complaint, but his CO never pulled the other man off the squad, claiming that he and Riley would get along if he just let him. _Fat chance._

But then anger, that raging fire that had been building up inside, almost cost him his life. He’d been careless, glossing over the mission and his equipment check over, his head stewing with Riley’s latest escapade. It wasn’t until after he jumped that he realized the problem. _A jammed chute._ His reserve, as well.

He remembered careening towards the ground at terminal velocity. A tough way to go. But it didn’t happen. He could here his CO yelling in his ear, yelling at Riley not surprisingly. At the time, Sam thought it was a poetic sense of justice that he would die listening to the sounds of Riley getting his ass reamed. He’d fallen past his release altitude, _again._

It wasn’t until he felt an arm grab him that he realized why. He turned mid-air to see Riley, chasing right after him, yanking at his chute to open. He pulled and pulled, holding tightly on to Sam as they got closer and closer to the ground. And then the chute had popped. Sam had jolted at the sudden decrease in speed, Riley hurtling past him for a few seconds before his own chute opened. Riley had saved his life.

After they’d landed, after the mission, Sam had waited outside his CO’s tent pacing, listening to Riley get chewed out for disobeying direct orders. Riley’s response was just as angry and as loud, and he came stomping out of the tent in a fit of anger, past Sam without a second glance.

Sam couldn’t help but follow. What did he say to the man? What could he say? _Sorry I don’t like you, but thanks for saving my life anyway?_ What actually came out of his mouth was less than helpful.

_“What are you doing here?”_

_Riley jumped and spun around, like he didn’t notice that Sam had been trailing behind him. “Wilson,” the man said. “Shouldn’t you be laying down?”_

_“What are you doing here?” Sam repeated._

_Riley paused, head swiveling around. “Um, I was planning to head to the latrine?”_

_“No, not- ” Sam broke off with an angry huff. “I meant here, in Afghanistan, doing this. You’ve got no business being here, so why?”_

_“Wilson, I really don’t- ”_

_“I just – I don’t get you, man. I don’t know what your deal is.”_

_Riley frowned, looking down at his hands. “Oh.”_

_Sam sighed, accepting that he wasn’t going to get an answer. He wasn’t really sure what he wanted to hear, anyway. Why he’d bothered confronting the man. He really shouldn’t be saying anything besides ‘thank you’, anyway._

_“A lot of times I don’t.”_

_“What?” Sam startled._

_“Want to be here,” Riley finished._

_Sam frowned at the answer. “Then why?”_

_“I shouldn’t even be here,” Riley continued. “My family’s old money. My dad is a big-wig in Washington, but I lived with my sister in New York. I had partied my way through two years of college – my dad bought my way into Columbia – when all of a sudden, he cut me off. Said I was a fuck-up, a disgrace, you know, the usual.”_

_Sam frowned. The usual, being what Sam called Riley on a day-to-day basis._

_“He said that I couldn’t be a real man if I tried,” Riley laughed. “So, that night I got hammered, and walked to a recruitment center the next morning. I sure showed him.”_

_So that’s what it was. Much like Sam, Riley had gone off to ware because of his father. The reasons, however, sat ill in the pit of Sam’s stomach. “So, spite,” Sam scoffed. “That’s it, huh?”_

_“At first, yeah,” Riley smiled sadly. “Something had to get me through the day. If you didn’t notice, I’m not exactly good at this line of work.”_

_Sam bit his lip. “You’re a good jumper,” he confessed softly. That much was true; Sam was still breathing because of it._

_“You know what I mean,” Riley replied, checking Sam’s shoulder softly before plopping right into the sand, Sam following suit. “You’ve been more than vocal about my proclivities as a soldier.”_

_Shame bubbled in Sam’s chest. It didn’t matter what Sam thought about him as a person, what he proved today was that he was a good soldier. A better one than Sam, to know what he thought about him, and deciding to save his ass anyway._

_“I don’t blame you,” Riley continued. “I know I joke around a bit.”_

_“A bit?” Sam laughed._

_“Okay, okay, a lot,” Riley conceded. “But let me ask you a question: what are you doing here?”_

_“Uh, well- ”_

_“Not you, specifically,” Riley interrupted. “We all know why you’re here. Your sense of obligation, your pride, or whatever. God, my father would kill to have a son like you. A perfect soldier, good morals,” Riley trailed off, frowning slightly. “But, I mean us, as a whole. Do you even know what we’re doing out here? Do you even need to know?”_

_Sam didn’t have an answer for that._

_“That’s what makes war so terrifying, you know? You stay out here long enough, you really forget what we’re fighting for. You fight for the country, that’s the answer they always give you, right? Seems kinda vague, doesn’t it?”_

_“Is it wrong that its vague?”_

_“Kinda, yeah,” Riley laughed. “Because fighting for the country doesn’t always mean that you’re helping, does it?”_

_“I think you’ve been spending too much time in the sun if you’re having these existential thoughts.”_

_“Maybe you’re right, Wilson.”_

_Sam looked down at his hands, the cool desert air blowing past them. “With those thoughts,” he continued, “all the more reason for you to not be here.”_

_“No kidding,” Riley agreed. “After a few tours, I thought I was done. I had long been proven that my dad still didn’t care for me, uniform or not, and I was getting real sick and tired of ambiguity of our situation over here.”_

_“But you came back?”_

_“I went home to visit my sister,” Riley answered. “She told me she was pregnant.” He reached into his uniform pocket and showed Sam a black and white photo, a small kidney bean in the center. “She’s almost due, you know; probably by the time we get back to home base.”_

_Sam smiled. “That’s great, man.”_

_“It’s a boy,” Riley said, looking down at the photo with a grin, before putting it away. “I’m gonna be an uncle. One of those cool ones, you know. The ones that take you for late night ice cream and sneak you into the alley to blow off fireworks.”_

_He’d never seen Riley act this way. Soft, quiet almost, like if sharing a secret, one that would disappear if spoken too loudly. Sam swallowed thickly when it hit him. “Your nephew. That’s why you’re still here.”_

_Riley nodded. “My sister’s boyfriend tucked tail as soon as he found out she was pregnant. A real piece of shit, that one. A lot like me, actually. I know she doesn’t need me for cash, or anything. She’s got a steady job – a teacher, so she’s already gonna be a great mom – and she still talks to my dad, but…”_

_“But?”_

_“When she told me she was pregnant, I thought about you.”_

_Sam gaped at the other man. “Me?”_

_“Yeah,” Riley whispered. “I thought about how you talked about your dad. How you barely knew the guy, but what you did know was more than enough to shape you into the man you are today. A solid one, a good one,” he smiled. “I don’t want my nephew to be like his father, or me, for that matter. I’d want him to be like you. So, if I have to jump from the fuckin’ stratosphere to keep my head on straight for my nephew, so be it.”_

Sam spent a long time sitting in the sand after their talk, long after Riley had gone off the bed, long after the sun had begun to crawl over the horizon. He thought about the man he knew – more like the man he thought he knew. The man who, after all this time, after all this hate, still thought the sun shone out of Sam’s ass. And if Riley was man enough to suck it up for his nephew, so could Sam. He stood up and went about his shift, mind made up. On his lunch break he searched the crowd, finding Riley tucked into a corner, and plopped down next to him. They were inseparable after that.

But then Riley died.

It was supposed to be a simple mission. A standard PJ rescue op, something they’d run thousands of times before. Go in, secure the target, go home.

Until an RPG knocked Riley’s damn ass out of the sky. Nothing Sam could do. Like he was just up there to watch.

_He ain’t gonna jump no more!_

They called Sam a hero for finishing the op alone. For apprehending Khalid Khandil. Sam knew the real hero was shipped home in a pine box. After Riley died, he had too hard of a time finding a reason for him to stay over there.

_“Do you even know what we’re doing out here? Do you even need to know?”_

Sam didn’t find out that Riley had become the reason he fought until it was too late.

Returning stateside, Sam yearned to head back south. Go back to his family, back to the familiar scenery, and join everyone else. _We all end up back here one way or another, son._

But he didn’t. He went north, to New York City. He found Riley’s sister, told her what a hero her brother was. She had smiled – Riley’s smile – and said that she knew. They _both_ knew. It was then that Sam had met her son, Riley’s nephew. A boy with bright hair and curious eyes. A boy named after his uncle.

Even after New York, Sam still didn’t return home. He went to Washington D.C. next, intent on tracking down the Riley’s father. He also needed to know about the man his son had become. His father was as polite and as plastic as expected, as any politician would be, but Sam had still fallen for his trap. Had ignored faint memories of Riley telling him about his father, how terrified he had been that he would end up the same way.

Instead, Sam listened to the father’s lies and false promises. How he was starting a charity in his son’s name. To help with families that were separated by the war. At the time, Sam had been so proud, so happy to know that Riley could still be helping people beyond the grave.

That was, until he found on the truth.

He stuck around in D.C., working for the new foundation – it was the least he could do for his best friend, the man for whom he owed his life.

It was by accident that he even saw – _fate,_ his mother would say. Someone had left the books out, the real ones. The ones that showed the charity stealing from the very families that is was meant to help. The ones that showed broken families hemorrhaging cash to the elite, getting only false promises in return.

When Sam had confronted Riley’s father, all he did was laugh. _“Illegal? Come on, Wilson, this is Washington. That word doesn’t exist here. It’s just business; one that you can profit from greatly, if you play your cards right. Think about it. You and your family would never have to worry about anything ever again. All thanks to Riley. Kinda funny, how fate works out. My son is more use to me dead that when he was alive.”_

Sam had thought about killing the man right there. Thought about wrapping his hands around the man’s neck and squeezing. Thought about the rush he would get as he felt the life escape through his purpling lips.

But he didn’t. Death would have been a mercy. One that he didn’t deserve.

So, he left. Walked away from the sounds of that cold, cruel laughter – laughter that sounded nothing like Riley’s. Unbeknownst to the father, however, Sam didn’t leave alone. He left with all the books, all the scams, everything. And posted them for the world to see.

Blasted hateful messages and inside scoops across the internet. Leaked photos, wrote op-eds, spread rumors like a wildfire. It was like he was a modern Martin Luther, nailing his truth on the church doors for the whole world to see.

Riley’s father’s foundation didn’t last the week. He could still remember the news that night, watching as the police tore the man away from his residence, his face red from screaming, and into the back seat of a cop car. The rush of grim satisfaction lasted only momentarily.

As soon as he flicked the television off, he started to sob. For Riley, for his nephew, for believing in any semblance of fairness or justice in the world. Riley’s father would spend the rest of his life in prison, and it still wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

His eyes had been opened. He saw the man behind the curtain, he saw the true face of the system on how the country worked, and it sickened him. Riley’s father was just the beginning. War profiteering, lobbying, hush money, scandals. They circled him like buzzards, suffocating him.

Sam had been blind for so long, but Riley hadn’t been. He had seen it, all those years ago. Seen through the lies and the bullshit. He’d tried to tell Sam, but he hadn’t listened. Hadn’t cared. But Sam cared now.

He remembered what Riley had told him once.

_“Old men just sit around and dream up wars for young men to die in.”_

When he left the service and moved to D.C., Sam had promised Riley one thing: that he would live his life to make him proud. Live the life that Riley had gifted him but didn’t save for himself. At the time, Sam had thought working at the foundation was the right answer, but it turned out it was just a stepping stone. A stepping stone to the underbelly. To the world riddled with corrupt politicians and leaders, damaged policies, and shady dealings.  

Riley had hated everything about that world. The very same world that eventually killed him.

_“Do you even know what we’re doing out here? Do you even need to know?”_

Sam knew, now. And he was just getting started.

Dismantling Riley’s father’s cooperation had been startlingly easy, but Sam had also been careful. With what he wanted to accomplish, however, Sam didn’t have the luxury anymore. So, he started to get less careful. Went loud and went fast. Riley would have appreciated that. He danced between rallies and protests, leaving with bruised knuckles and an escalating police record. He fought and vandalized, exposed and expunged. He’d stand tall on Capitol Hill, and scream and scream, and scream.

_I am no longer your pawn._

He let himself be dragged behind bars, only to be pulled back out and start over. It wasn’t until he started spending longer on the inside than out there, that Sam started to take stock of his actions. What was he even doing there? Was it even helping? Will it ever be enough?

Short answer. _No._

He’d left Afghanistan and angry and broken young man. But he wasn’t young anymore. He’d spent more time in D.C. than he had when he was deployed, leaving one war just to go any fight another one. But this time, his enemies weren’t unseen. They weren’t hiding in the sands, they were boasting in plain sight. Walking the same streets as him, breathing the same air. Flaunting their victories.

The war in the Middle East started to make a lot more sense than whatever battle he was fighting here. _What would Riley do?_ he asked himself that night, sitting alone in his cell. It struck him there that he didn’t know what Riley would do, what Riley would say. That voice in his head, that voice he’d convinced himself was Riley, pushing him day after day, was only a veiled lie. It was Riley’s voice, it was his. His anger, his pain, driving him day in and day out. He used his memory of Riley to fight his own problems and called it justice. Was he mad that his country had failed Riley? That they’d sent him on an unwinnable mission for their own gain; a suicidal journey through hell that only awarded him with death? Or was he mad that his country did all those things to him, only for him to survive and be left in ruin?

He never found his answer. And when he was finally released, Sam found himself straying from his usual path, taking one that he hadn’t thought about in years. He wasn’t sure what he would do in New York, what he _could_ do in New York. First thing he did was stop at Riley’s sister’s place. He didn’t go in to visit – that door had shut long ago. He stood across the street, watching a tired mother check her mail while Riley’s nephew – at least four years old by now – ran circles around her in the lobby. Sam could hear him giggling, his golden hair shining under the building’s lights. Logically, he knew that there was a higher chance he took after his father, but Sam liked to imagine a smaller Riley in his place, running about his backyard, toy airplane in his hand.

He set up shop in lower Manhattan. Corruption was like currency there, more than enough for him to keep busy. To keep exposing. _To keep fighting._

Like D.C., it wasn’t long before he got noticed, but Sam didn’t care anymore. Didn’t care as he was followed into an alley, didn’t care when the four men jumped him. Didn’t care as they bruised his face and cracked his ribs. Only thing he did end up caring about was what happened right after.

_“On your left!”_

_Sam barely had time to duck before a new fist shot out behind him. The sudden shift in gravity had him falling to the ground, moaning as his body flared up in protest of its new injuries. The scuffle continued above him, but it was like they all forgot he was there, the men focused completely on the newcomer instead. But that too, didn’t last long, as it felt like minutes later a few final thuds of bodies hitting the ground sounded, the alley descending into silence._

_A pair of hands grabbed at his arms, and Sam didn’t have time to fight back before he was helped back to his feet. The man was a huge, hulking figure, but it didn’t match the soft look on his face. He also wasn’t alone. There was another person, but Sam couldn’t make him out, as he pressed himself into the shadows of the alley._

_“Sam Wilson, right?” The man who had helped him up stuck out a hand for him to shake, as if an introduction in the middle of an alley, standing over a pile of unconscious thugs was a normal thing to do. Then again, this was New York._

_“What’s it to you?” Sam asked in return, glaring at the offending hand until the other man dropped it._

_The blonde-haired smiled. “I was hoping we could have a chat.”_

_“Oh, boy. A group of white cops come to threaten a black guy in an alley? How original,” Sam drawled._

_“We’re not fuzz,” the shadow man answered._

_“I see,” Sam sighed, trying to eye a way out. “Okay then, let me guess. You’re just two law-abiding citizens, concerned about the safety of their neighborhood, is that right? I’m sorry, did I walk down here too menacingly for you?”_

_The blonde huffed. “If the locals are concerned for their safety, it’s because of me and not you.”_

_“And why’s that?”_

_“Because I’m The Captain.”_

_“No, you’re not,” Sam answered on instinct. It was mainly just to soothe his own worry. He’d only been here two weeks; he couldn’t have possibly pissed off the Big Brother of Brooklyn already, could he? He knew New York operated differently than Washington D.C., but this was almost ridiculous._

_“Would I lie?” The Captain asked simply._

_No, Sam thought to himself. It didn’t matter how new The Captain was in the streets; no one in their right mind would try and impersonate him. Sam knew it happened once – he had overheard two guys chatting about it while in a laundromat. It was obvious to the city that The Captain was going places, so some gangster thought it would be funny to terrorize lower Queens, all in the name of The Captain and his new gang. Considering they – what did they call themselves, The Commandos? –  hadn’t ever strayed from Brooklyn, people were skeptical, but also terrified. The crimes committed seemed to threaten a dismal future._

_New York was buzzing with The Captain’s name, as well as the group of mercenaries he was putting together. The city was already in flames due to the plague of HYDRA, but the possibility of another player on the battlefield had people quivering in their boots. Mainly because no one knew which way he was going to fall on the spectrum. Half of what made The Captain so terrifying was that while he was currently content with his Robin Hood act in Brooklyn, it seemed he had the means and the power to go apocalyptic with a flip of the switch. What happened in Queens seemed to be the first sign of the public’s greatest fear. Another HYDRA that would have them adding another lock to their doors._

_Of course, it didn’t last long. The imposters barely had time to gain credit before the actual Captain swooped in like the Archangel Michael himself, leaving his kingdom and raining down on them with unrelenting and vengeful fury. It was a massacre, but the message was clear._

_Take my name in vain, and there will be consequences._

_Sam looked back at the blonde standing across from him, taking in his stone eyes and blank face. “What can I do for you, Captain?” he asked. What did I do to you? was what he really meant. He’d only been here a short while but working alone always meant that he was out of the loop. He could have unknowingly walked all over The Captain’s territory, and not known it._

_“I just wanted to meet you,” The Captain replied. “I’ve heard a lot about you. You’re a busy man, Sam Wilson.”_

_Sam snorted. “Busy would imply that I actually manage to get stuff done.”_

_The blonde smiled. “It’s frustrating, isn’t it? The system; how it works here. How it eats away at everyday people until there’s nothing let of them, all while the rich gorge themselves in their castles?”_

_“Let them eat cake, am I right?”_

_“Yeah, somethin’ like that,” The Captain nodded._

_“If that’s all?” Sam asked, taking a slow step away from the blonde. He could hear the other man shift slightly behind him._

_“There’s no need to be nervous.”_

_Sam laughed. “There’s every need for me to be nervous. I may still be out of my element here, but I know we’re definitely not in Brooklyn.”_

_“And?”_

_“And if you’re who you say you are, then I know that you never leave Brooklyn unless your pissed.”_

_“I never leave Brooklyn unless there’s a reason for it,” The Captain countered._

_“And I’m the reason?” Sam gaped._

_“Like I said,” the mob boss answered with a shrug of his shoulders. “I wanted to meet you. I heard you were in New York, so I saw an opportunity to come say hi.”_

_“Uh, hi?”_

_The Captain smiled again. It was deceivingly soft, especially for a man that was well on his way to owning Brooklyn. “Is it safe for me to assume that New York is going to be a new permanent place of residence?”_

_“No,” Sam lied on instinct._

_“Yes,” the other man interjected. Sam spun around to glare at him, the shadowed being so silent that Sam had actually forgotten that he was there. “You’ve unpacked all the boxes in your apartment. Even bought a new coffee machine; no one would waste cash on that if they were just passing through.”_

_“You’ve been in my apartment?”_

_The other man shifted, far enough that his pale face slipped into the light, long enough to give him a blank look._

_“You find something you like in there?” Sam asked, suddenly furious. “You look like the type of guy that steals people’s underwear and then wears it for fun.”_

_The other man growled, reaching a hand down for his side arm and Sam got ready to charge, before stopping at the sound of quiet laughter. “Easy, Buck,” The Captain chuckled, the other man – Buck – letting out an indignant huff before stalking back down the alley. Sam turned back towards blonde. “I like you, Sam.”_

_“Must be my lucky day,” Sam mused. “Listen, if this is your idea of a welcome wagon, can we just skip to the end? I’m not a threat to you. I’m not anywhere near Brooklyn, and I have no plans to head over that way, I promise you.”_

_“You’re a very skeptical man, you know that?”_

_“Read a history book. I got more than enough reason to be.”_

_“Fair point,” The Captain said. “But you can rest easy, soldier. I’m not here to threaten you. Quite the opposite, really.”_

_“Oh?”_

_“I know a lot about you, Sam. I know what you were doin’ down in D.C. Fighting an unwinnable battle but fighting all the same. Sounds pretty brave.”_

_“Yeah, or pretty stupid.”_

_“Depends on who you ask, I guess,” the criminal smiled. “But if you ask me, I’d say brave.”_

_“Um. Thanks.”_

_“You’re a smart man, Sam. For as much as I know about you, I’m sure you know just as much about me. About the group of people I’m putting together.”_

_Sam nodded._

_“There’s a larger game at play here,” The Captain continued. “One that I’m aiming to win. And I need the best to do so.”_

_“Okay?”_

_“You have a knack for causing chaos. I can appreciate that. I’ve seen evidence of you lighting a single match that was strong enough to topple even some of the most powerful lobbyists in Washington. I can only imagine what your talents could do here.”_

_Sam paused. “I’m sorry, is this a job offer?”_

_“Maybe.”_

_Sam looked down, thinking of Riley. Thinking of them together in Afghanistan, the pair of them laughing as they got ready to jump. The pair of them in silence when Sam sat next to a wooden coffin. He thought of D.C., the sound of riot gear thudding against him, the smell of smoke grenades, the sound of his jail cell closing. “Nah, man,” he said finally. “I just got out. The number of people giving me orders is finally down to zero. I don’t want to be a pawn anymore.”_

_“Good. I don’t need a pawn. I need a knight.”_

It wasn’t hard to fall in fine with The Commandos. The comradery they shared was familiar, just like what he shared with his unit while he was deployed. So, there he was, fighting yet another war.

But this one was different. He wasn’t really sure how, but days went by, then weeks, then months, and it finally hit him.

_Bliss._

_I found it, Mama._

Fighting for Steve shouldn’t have been any different. There were many times that he never saw his enemy, much like it was in Afghanistan. And there were many times that his enemies walked in broad daylight, much like the political scum in Washington D.C. Maybe it was because Sam got on so well with the others, maybe it was because he was damn good at what he did. But it wasn’t. Fighting for Steve, fighting for The Commandos was different because of one thing. He got results.

If they wanted something done, they did it. There was no half-assing, there was no convoluted bullshit or maybes. Steve was a straight forward guy and his mission was always clear cut. But it was always ever changing. Eradicating HYDRA and keeping Brooklyn in line was their main goal, but Steve never pushed any idea off to the side. If Sam brought him a dirty cop, if Clint showed up with whispers of domestic abuse, hell, if Natasha mentioned a grocery store clerk rubbed her the wrong way, Steve would drop everything and take care of it.

They were efficient and unyielding. Never once did Sam have time – or the need – to question why he was doing what he was doing every day. Sure, it probably wasn’t what his Mama had in mind for him as a career – turning to crime hadn’t exactly been on his radar either – but Sam had asked for a way to fight injustice, and God had given him Steve Rogers. And therefore, given Sam, his bliss.

Sam smiled sadly to himself, stepping off the sidewalk to walk across his front lawn. Wherever they were, Sam just hoped they still had some semblance of the feeling. _God,_ he missed them.

He jogged up the stairs to his house, fishing his keys out of his pocket. He unlocked the door and stepped in, greeted with the same musty room that met him every day. Except. Sam eyed the far corner of his den, at the window that was now open, the curtain swaying in the breeze. A window that he distinctly remembered not leaving open when he left for work this morning. His fingers itched for a gun. Instead, he crept forward to his end table, unplugging the lamp and raised in over his shoulder like a bat.

“You got about fifteen seconds to get out of this house before I come over there and start swinging.”

A soft thud; a kitchen cabinet closing. Feet shuffled on the tiles before a familiar mop of blonde hair popped around the door jam. “Could you give us a little longer?” Steve asked. “I just put a pot of coffee on.”

Sam stared blankly at the other man, lamp still raised behind his head. Another second went by and Tony Stark peeked out from behind Steve. “What, you gonna brain us with the lamp?” he asked with a smirk, giving the light fixture a once over. “Actually,” he continued, “that thing is positively atrocious, maybe you should give it a good whacking.”

Sam blinked.

“Sam?” Steve asked, stepping out of the kitchen. “You alright?”

“You… broke into my house?” he asked slowly.  

“To be fair, it was startlingly easy,” Tony said with a shrug. “What kind of criminal are you? You should be ashamed of yourself.”

Steve hummed in agreement, walking over to the window that the pair must have slipped through. “Really, Sam, you should consider getting better locks. This is a tough neighborhood.”

“Although, maybe he’s already scared everyone away by threatening them with the lamp,” Tony laughed. “There’s always a crazy in every suburb.”

Steve snickered alongside Tony before looking back at Sam. “You broke into my house,” he replied again, dumbly.

“Yes, we’ve established that,” Tony sighed, brushing a hand over the shoulder of his shirt.

“You broke into… why did you,” Sam huffed, suddenly frustrated. “How?” he finally settled on.

Steve just laughed again, ambling forward to wrap Sam in his arms. “I missed you, Sam.”

Sam felt his own arms mirror on instinct, his lungs breathing in a familiar smell. “You’re really here,” he murmured softly.

Steve must have heard him, because he answered, “Yeah, Sam,” arms tightening their hold. He knew that the rest of them would be fine, he just _knew,_ but standing here with Steve, Sam could feel tears begin to well up in his eyes. A final confirmation needed to break the dam. Months of ignoring new stories and flipping channels, months of silencing the _‘what-if’s’_ in his head, clinging to the faint sliver of hope that the rest of them had made it out. He pulled back far enough to see Steve grin down at him. It was worth it.

“You look like shit,” he confessed.

“That good, huh?” Steve answered, stepping away, his hands trying to straighten out the deep wrinkles in his shirt. “Well, I guess that’s what you get for spending a few nights in the car.”

Tony walked up next to Steve. “I don’t remember you complaining last night.”

 _“Tony,”_ Steve hissed, before turning to look at Sam. “Can I use your bathroom?”

“Oh, sure, you break into my house, and _now_ you ask for permission?” Steve gave him a sour look. “Yeah, man, it’s down the hall on your left.”

He and Stark watched as the blonde walked away, the pair of them falling into an awkward silence.

“You look… well.”

Sam rolled his eyes, stepping around Stark and into the kitchen. True to his word, Steve had put on some coffee, and Sam walked over to pour himself a cup. He heard Stark shuffle in behind him; he could almost feel the man’s stare, no doubt trying to think of something to say. They’d never been very close, but then again, with everything going on, there wasn’t exactly a lot of time to bond.

“I would ask how you got here, but I have a feeling that would be a dumb question.”

He turned to see Stark give an almost sheepish smile. “Steve and I seem to have a hard time following instructions.”

Sam snorted. “No shit.” He paused to fill up his cup, breathing in sharp aroma. “You’ve been with him?”

“Uh, yeah. I guess Fury hit his head too hard on something and decided it was a good idea to let Steve and I bunk together.”

“Smart move,” Sam replied. “It’ll stop either of you from doing something stupid.”

“Well, apparently not,” Stark laughed.

Sam paused, staring down at the coffee machine before pulling out another mug and pouring a second cup. He offered it over to Stark, the man smiling gratefully in return before gulping the liquid down. A much better interaction than the last time Sam had given him caffeine, remembering the cool muzzle of a gun against his throat, the weapon remaining steady, even as Stark threw his head back to finish the drink.

It had been the first time he’d met Stark, in person, anyway. He would have to have lived under a rock not to know about one of the largest puppet masters of Manhattan. It was there, in their own home, watching as Stark batted Steve around like a cat with a ball of yarn that he was reminded of the first time he met Riley. Of course, Sam thought that as bad as it was, his and Riley’s first meeting ended a lot better than theirs, considering Steve had Stark pushed up against the wall, snarling in his face, his own gun pointed at the smaller man’s chest.

But that all seemed like a dream. Like ever disliking Riley, thinking of a time in which Steve and Stark were at odds was almost inconceivable. Sure, he could list a million reasons why they shouldn’t work, but here they were anyway, working. _It was just meant to be,_ his mother’s voice whispered in his ear.

But, boy, the crew certainly didn’t make it easy. They were so focused on Stark, the outsider, _the threat,_ that no one bothered to look at Steve. Sam remembered asking Steve once:

_“What makes you happy?”_

At the time, Steve had smiled sadly, replying a simple, _“I don’t know,”_ with a shrug of his shoulders.

He could relate. Sam could talk a big game, but he knew he could still find himself in the same boat as Steve. New York made him happy, his team – _his family –_ made him happy, but there were still plenty of holes. Large ones that left him hollow, left him wondering what he was even fighting for when he woke up in the morning.

But now, watching as Steve returned from down the hall and slip an arm around Tony as he ushered him over to the couch, smiling gratefully as the brunette offered him a sip of his coffee, Sam couldn’t help but notice that a few of those holes had been filled.

 _In more ways that one, probably,_ he thought to himself with a quiet chuckle.

“What’s so funny?” Steve asked.

Sam shook his head. “As always, Cap, my humor would be wasted on you.”

Tony snickered into his hand, flopping to lean against Steve’s chest. Sam waited for the pair to explain themselves.

“So,” he said.

“So,” Steve repeated.

“So, what brings you down this way? Unless you’ve been my neighbor this whole time without me knowing, I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to be here.”

“Pretty sure we weren’t supposed to be in Florida either, but no one seemed to care.”

“Florida?”

Tony hummed. “Barnes says hi.”

Sam snorted, picturing the man stuck in exile in a sea of swamps and tourists. “Pretty sure he doesn’t.”

“Don’t be like that,” Tony replied with a roll of his eyes. “I know you miss him.”

“Like the plague.”

“Sam,” Steve scolded. He could see in the blonde’s face that there were lists of things he wanted to ask him but wasn’t sure where to start. “How are you?” he finally settled on.

“I’m alright,” he answered. It was partially true. He liked to pride himself on being one of the most collected in their group. He’d always been one to roll with the punches and deal with the odds that God had given him. Sure, it had been more difficult since throwing his chips in with The Commandos, but he still wouldn’t change a thing. In reality, Sam spent most of his time of his exile in paradise worrying about the others. If they were all alright, how they were managing day to day. It gave him something to do, instead of having to face his own problems. Gave him a reason to get up and fight.

“Just alright?” Steve pushed with a knowing smile.

“Just alright, he says,” Sam laughed. “I think doing just alright is pretty good, considering.”

“It is,” Tony said. “You’re taking this a whole lot better than Barnes did.”

“Let me guess, he had one hand on his go-bag before you had finished walking through the door?”

Steve smiled sadly. “Somethin’ like that, yeah.”

It’s not like Sam could judge the other man. He had barely set foot in his new home before he was already trying to find a way out of it. It was almost ironic, being surrounded by multiple doors and windows, all of them perfect to make an escape, and knowing that he couldn’t use any of them.

Even with Steve and Tony here, Sam knew that he wasn’t getting out any time soon. They would leave and he would stay, content to continue spending his days staring back at the invisible bars that mocked him.

“So, just passing through?” he asked. “Taking in the natural splendor that is Arkansas?”

“Splendor is one word for it,” Tony muttered into his mug.

“Don’t be rude,” Steve frowned at the smaller man before turning back to Sam. “It’s very nice here, Sam. Looks like you got it all figured out.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “I don’t need you to coddle me, Steve. I’m a big boy; I know how to take care of myself.”

A faint dusting of pink sprinkled Steve’s cheeks. “Well, I-I know,” he stuttered. “I just wanted to- ”

“This road trip is as much for us, as it is for you,” Tony interrupted. “We just want to make sure all our ducks are accounted for, that’s all.”

“Speaking of said road trip,” Sam answered. “Should I even bother with a ‘ _this is too risky’_ speech?”

“Nope,” Tony said, lips popping.

“As if you aren’t happy to see us,” Steve added.

“Well, I’m down some coffee and a perfectly good window, so I’m not really sure how I benefit here,” Sam chuckled.

“With this,” Tony replied, chuckling a phone at him. “Fully functioning Commando hotline. Now, you and the gang can start talking shit behind our backs again.”

“I was never that subtle.” Sam ran a hand over the phone, feeling the weight of it in his hand. It was like being handed a glass of ice water in the desert.

“We’ve still got a few to drop off, but soon you’ll be able to talk with everyone again,” said Steve. “It’s the best thing we can give you for now.”

Sam smiled. “I don’t know, I was kind of enjoying the solitude.” It was a lie, a blatant one, obviously given away by how his hand curled around the phone like a lifeline.

“Liar,” Steve chided before the trio descended into silence. There was a pressing question that was begged to be asked, but Sam knew there was no point. He was pretty sure he knew the answer anyway, looking back down at the phone. It was a solution, but a temporary one.

“You can’t stay,” he found himself whispering.

“Afraid not,” Steve answered. “Gotta keep moving.”

Sam nodded, unable to make eye contact with his friend. “Where are you heading next?”

“North. To see Nat.”

“Well,” Sam said slowly. “Tell her I said hi.”

“You can tell her yourself,” Tony responded. “Soon.”

“Right. How quickly do you need to leave? Can you do lunch?”

“I wish we could,” Steve sighed remorsefully. “We planned on getting here yesterday, but the storms slowed us down. We knew we needed to see you, but we’ve gotta stick to our timetable.”

“AKA, you’re going to have a surprise house visit today by your handler, and we can’t afford to stick around,” Tony added.

“How do you- ” but he cut himself off at Tony’s raised eyebrow. “Right, stupid question.”

“I’m sorry, Sam. We got here as fast as we could.”

“No worries.” He tried to shoot them a winning smile as he stood up, walking back over to the front door. “You came, and that’s enough for me.”

“Why couldn’t Barnes be as well behaved as you,” Tony huffed, placing a now empty mug on his coffee table and following Sam to the door.

“Because that implies that he can behave at all,” Sam countered, opening the screen door onto the porch.

“Ugh, this heat,” Tony moaned. “Get me the hell out of here.”

Sam heard Steve walk up behind him, clapping a hand on his back. “Thanks for understanding, Sam. I can’t imagine how hard it is for all of you.”

 _Yes, you can,_ Sam thought to himself. “Anything I can do to help?” he asked instead.

_Please. Give me anything to do and I’ll do it._

Steve smiled sadly. “As soon as I know, I’ll let you know.”

Sam frowned, but nodded sullenly. He looked down at his hands, as if suddenly unsure what he was going to do with them. “You guys want anything for the road?” Let it be said that his Mama made sure he knew how to entertain his guests.

“Ugh, no,” Tony moaned, grabbing at his stomach. “I’ve been eating nothing but gas station food for days now, and I think my stomach has shut down.”

“You have no one to blame but yourself,” Steve responded. “No one’s forcing you to buy that crap, let alone buy it at every single station we stop at.”

“This is a road trip, Steven. You can’t have a road trip without road trip snacks!”

“I’m not saying that, but would it kill you to have an apple and not that candy shit- ”

“They’re _fruit snacks_ , Steve! Fruit is in the name!”

“Artificially flavored is not the same thing, and you know it!”

Tony scoffed. “Fine. I know where I’m not appreciated.” He stuck a hand out that Sam immediately shook. “Catch you later, Wilson.”

“You too, Stark,” he answered, holding in his laughter.

“You sure I can’t leave him with you?” Steve asked, watching Tony walk back over to their car.

“Complain all you like, you’d be lost without him.”

Steve bit his lip, nodding slightly. “Yeah.”

“Go on then, you sap. Better hit the road before he starts groaning again.”

Sam heard Steve shuffling nervously next to him. “I’m sorry we can’t stay.” The blonde paused. “I’m sorry for a lot of things.”

“Don’t be like that, Steve. You and Stark got us out of there without a prison sentence or a coffin. Sounds like a win to me.”

Steve left out a quiet huff, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“No, I’m pretty sure I’m right.”

“Alright, no need to be an ass.” The blonde engulfed Sam in a tight hug. “I’ll see you soon.”

“You got it. And, uh, here’s an idea. Next time you plan on visiting, try the front door, yeah?”

Steve chuckled, squeezing at Sam’s shoulder. “I’ll do you one better. Next time I visit, I’ll use the front door and take you back home. Square deal?”

Sam grinned. “Square deal, Cap.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam didn't really get too much time in the spotlight in GUE, so I decided to give him some extra lovin' here.  
> Also, he deserves it because of recent events in Endgame (so proud of you, bb.)
> 
> The song referenced by Riley is actually real, called Blood on the Risers. Para-jumpers used to sing it all the time during World War II. It's super haunting.


	3. Casey, Illinois - Steve Rogers

“Wrong eye.”

The voice was slurred, as if drunk, and Steve turned in time to see his third favorite Tony face – nose scrunched with lips in an adorable pout, and sleepy eyes that blinked awake. The brunette rubbed a hand over his face before turning to look at Steve, a look still so soft and open that if Steve didn’t know any better, it would be impossible for him to believe that this was the same man who ruthlessly reigned over New York’s underground. His fingers twitched for a pencil.

Steve sent a glance to check the empty highway before looking back to his companion, being met with another Tony classic. The ‘ _I just said something that made complete sense in my head, how are you not following?’_ Nearly everyone on the crew had been met with this face – excluding Bruce of course. Tony was always so many steps in front of everyone, solving problems that the others didn’t even no existed yet.

Steve knew that he would never not be in awe of how brilliant Tony really was. He had lost count of all the times that he’d sat next to him, soaking up his genius like a wet sponge, wishing he could catch just a single glimpse into his brain, imagining how he would see an endless cycle of ingenuity, the neurons firing like pistons at Mach speed. Getting frustrated that he could never see the world the way that Tony could.

“I’m sorry, was that supposed to be English?” Steve asked with a smile.

Tony sent him a dirty look. “You’re in the wrong eye.”

“What’s wrong with my eyes?”

 _“No,”_ Tony huffed. “ _I,_ not eye,” he said, pointing at a sign. Steve followed Tony’s finger, catching a glimpse at a sign for the upcoming town. _Casey, Illinois._

“I’m still not following.”

“We want Indiana, not Illinois.”

 _Oh, wrong I. Wrong I state._ Steve rolled his eyes. “You do realize that Indiana and Illinois are right next to each other.”

“Like anyone could tell the difference between the two. Or any of these states for that matter. Wow, another 300 miles of flat farmland? Oh, another turbine farm? More corn? _Positively thrilling._ Honestly, this place blows.”

“I didn’t realize that you had such a beef with the Midwest.”

“Ah, yes. The Midwest. The group of states that no one else wanted so they formed their own region, with the only purpose of being a roadblock to the cool parts of America.”

“Is that so?”

“Absolutely. They have nothing else going for them.”

“I don’t think that’s really accurate- ”

“All these states have shit about Lincoln in their state slogan because they have no accomplishments other than some past president walking through their fields.”

Steve frowned. “Not all of them.”

“Yeah, you’re right, Steve. That’s because Indiana’s state motto is ‘ _Crossroads of America’._ It’s literally claiming that the only thing they have going for them is that it’s a state you cross to get to other states.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Steve chuckled.

“But I’m not wrong.”

“Whatever you say, Tony.”

A silence descended over the pair before Tony finally asked. “When will we be at Nat’s?”

“Tomorrow morning,” Steve answered, probably too quickly. He had hoped that it would have been left at that, but Steve knew as soon as Tony asked where the conversation was heading. He could almost hear the gears spinning in his head.

“Any reason why that might be?”

“Well, following the traffic laws comes at a price, unfortunately.”

“Steve.” He could feel the heat of Tony’s gaze. He stole a peek at his copilot, catching the phone in Tony’s lap, open in the GPS app. “When you took over driving, we have about three hours to go. Wanna tell me why now after I’ve woken up, we’re now four hours away?”

“There were a lot of road closures?”

Tony crossed his arms. “Is that a question or a statement?”

Steve sighed, rubbing his thumb against his temple as he merged off the highway. There was no reason to lie to Tony; he had just hoped that the man would have been asleep for longer to give him more time to come up with a better lie.

“We’re taking the scenic route, that’s all.”

“Oh, is that all? Steve, do I have to remind you that we are currently running from- ”

“Tony, we’ve been stuck in the car for days,” Steve cut him off. “And I do understand the pressure we’re under here, but I have every faith that if something was even remotely close to going wrong, you would have let me know. I just,” he sighed again. “I just thought that we should take some time for ourselves, is all. We’ve been running ourselves into the ground; we deserve a night off.”

Tony stared at him blankly. “I’m sorry,” he laughed. “Mr. Boy Scout himself wants to blow our duty off for a night on the town?”

Steve shrugged. “What can I say? You must be rubbing off on me.”

“ _And_ a delivery with a dirty joke? I’m sorry, who are you and what have you down with Steve Rogers?”

“Tony,” Steve laughed, reaching a hand out to grab Tony’s. “I’d like to take the night off with you. Am I going to cause any problems by doing so?”

“No,” Tony answered slowly. “We drove through the night after Sam’s, so if anything, we’re ahead of schedule- ”

“Exactly what I was thinking,” Steve replied. “Let me take you out? I did promise you a date, didn’t I?”

He risked another glance at Tony, relieved to see the other man was smiling. “You remembered that, huh?”

“How could I forget?”

“I doubted a Price Charming such as yourself wouldn’t it’s just…”

“What?”

“Here?” Tony asked. “You’re going to sweep me off my feet in the middle of the boondocks of Illinois?”

Steve chuckled, making a left turn. “I can guarantee you an afternoon you won’t forget, how about that?”

Tony hummed. “That doesn’t necessarily bode well,” he mused. “Good thing I’ve never been known to make good decisions. Lead on, Rogers, and show me a good time.”

“Lucky for us,” Steve answered, slowing the car to a halt. “I think we’re at our first stop.”

“You think?”

Steve grinned at the other man. “You tell me. Look out the window.”

Tony obliged, turning to look out of the window. He itched for his sketchbook again, wanting to forever capture the gape of Tony’s face when he finally saw it. “What the fuck is that?”

“That, Mr. Stark, is the World’s Largest Mailbox.”

Tony whipped his gaze between the mailbox and Steve. Steve himself didn’t know what he was expecting – it was just an oversized mailbox. Tony’s reaction to said mailbox was, so far, much more enjoyable than the real thing.

“You must be joking.”

Steve bit his lip to stifle a laugh. “And you thought the Midwest was a bust.”

“You drove us hours out of the way to see a mailbox.”

“You bet your ass I did,” Steve replied, stepping out of the car. “Come on,” he continued, leaning back in his door to look at Tony. “I want us to get a picture with it. I think you can even climb inside.”

“Oh, no,” Tony said. “I am not getting a picture with this monstrosity. Tony Stark doesn’t _get_ pictures with things; things get pictures with him.”

“Well, it’s a good thing that you’re not Tony Stark then, is it?” Steve beamed. “Tony Stark is on holiday. He wouldn’t be caught dead in this small town in the Midwest.”  

Tony groaned, and stomped out the car like a petulant child, closing the door with a slam. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“This is only stop number one,” Steve laughed. “We’ve got a ton of other places to stop.”

“Wait, wait, wait, there’s _more?”_

Steve threw him the brochure he found at a rest area that they’d previously stopped in. There had been a full wall of these pamphlets, small towns putting their achievements on blast in hopes that some desperate tourists would stop through. There were plenty of other places that Steve could have taken Tony – places that he was sure to have enjoyed more – but there was something about this town that was so utterly ridiculous that he couldn’t get out of his head. Besides, there could be plenty of chances for him to go on cave tours. How many more times was he going to be close enough to see the World’s Largest Mailbox?

“ _Holy shit,”_ Tony breathed, looking down at the town map in disbelief. “They’re everywhere.”

He wasn’t wrong. It was if the small town of Casey was set upon collecting as may world records as they possibly could. _World’s Largest Pencil, World’s Largest Chimes, World’s Largest Rocking Chair,_ were to name just a few. And Steve was going to drag Tony to all of them.

“Buckle up, Stark. Get ready for a date of a lifetime.”

“You’re not joking.”

“Nope. We can even stop at the gift shop. I’ll buy you a Rubik’s cube.”

“Steve, I’m a certified genius. Don’t insult me.”

“I’m just saying. Tons of opportunity for fun today.”

“You know what?” Tony replied. “Turns out I don’t really _need_ the whole dating scene. You love me – well, actually not too sure about that right now – and I love you, so what more do I need?”

Steve tried not to soften at Tony’s admission; every time Tony uttered those words would turn Steve’s insides to goop. It was also a dirty trick, and Steve saw right through it. “Nice try,” Steve smiled, dropping a kiss on Tony’s scowl. “We’re doing it. And taking a picture at each one.”

“Ugh,” Tony scoffed. “Fine, but I will only stomach this for an hour, _tops._ Plenty of time for us to get back on the road so I can go complain to Natasha. In fact, I might just decide to stay with her.”

“If you value your life, you won’t do that,” Steve said. “Besides, we still won’t have time to make it to Natasha’s tonight. I’ve got plans for this evening.”

“Oh God,” came a moaned reply. “Are we going to split the World’s Largest Piece of Lasagna?”

“Nope, something better.”

Tony gave him another dirty look. “I highly doubt it. Alright, lay it on me. What’s on the docket?”

“Camping.”

Tony groaned, flopping his head against their truck’s hood. “You _cannot_ be serious.”

“I am absolutely serious,” Steve replied. “Hey, you were the one who agreed to camping- ”

“It was a euphemism and you know it!” Tony hissed.

“Not the way I heard it,” Steve smiled innocently. “Come on, it’s going to be fun.”

“I would rather walk into incoming traffic.”

“You can’t fool me,” said Steve, patting Tony’s back comfortingly. “Now come on, before the rush gets here.”

“Steve, I will sell my company if I ever saw a _rush_ of people to get a picture with the World’s Largest Mailbox.”

But Steve wasn’t listening. He practically skipped across the street, giddy in a way he hadn’t been since he was a child, listening to Tony’s complaining huffs as he dragged his feet across the pavement behind him.

“Excuse, me, ma’am?” Steve stopped an older woman crossing their path.

“Steve, don’t you dare.”

“Would you mind taking a picture of me and boyfriend?” he asked with a shining smile.

“Of course!” she replied, taking Steve’s phone. “You guys on vacation?”

“Yes,” Tony grit out. “And would you believe this was our first choice?”

Steve discreetly stepped on Tony’s foot. “Behave,” he whispered.

“You want me to behave or enjoy myself? You can’t ask for both,” Tony snapped right back.

The woman didn’t seem to hear their exchange. “Well, aren’t you two just the sweetest! It’s so wonderful seeing the younger generation interested in local history. Say cheese!”

Steve beamed as the woman took the picture, only hoping that Tony didn’t decide on any rude gestures. “Thank you so much,” he said as the woman handed Steve his phone back.

“Not a problem, dear. You two cuties enjoy yourself.”

Steve ignored the urge to look at the photo immediately, instead turning to see Tony looking up again at the mailbox, a more curious gaze about him. “You want to go inside, don’t you?” Steve knowingly asked.

Tony sighed. “I guess.”

“That’s the spirit!” Steve said, grabbing Tony’s hand. “I’ll even let you choose which one next you want to look at.”

“I am going to kill you,” Tony hissed.

* * *

“Steve, I may not be in expert when it comes to this, but I’m almost positive camping doesn’t consist of me sitting in the car in the middle of the woods.”

Steve sighed for probably the millionth time, looking over his shoulder to send his companion a dirty look. Not that he could see it. “Just a few more minutes!” he shouted back, turning back to the mess in front of him. Gratefully, Tony didn’t respond with another scathing comment. _Although he has every right,_ Steve thought to himself. ‘A few more minutes’ is what he told Tony last time he asked to come out. And the time before that. Truthfully, the whole process should have only taken a few minutes, but no matter what Steve did, he never felt satisfied with the end result. But he knew he couldn’t put it off any longer. Steve groaned quietly, thinking again what a stupid idea this was before walking back to their car to let Tony out.

He was about to reach for the door when he paused, hand freezing as it reached out for the handle. Uncertainty, once again, crept through his veins and he turned to look back at his creation. An inviting fire burned in the center, the glow illuminating mismatched pillows and blankets that littered both the truck bed and the ground. A small cooler propped open revealed the makings of smores and gas station whiskey. Steve had even strung some LED string lights on the tree next to them, the bulbs twinkling next to the stars. A small radio sat on a log, quietly playing what Steve assumed was the only classic rock station in the entire state. He’d also gone as far as getting a mini grill, prepped and ready to fry up some burgers.

Steve frowned. Whatever look he was trying to go for here was clearly a failure – the cozy campsite image turned out more like a camp that was ravaged by a bear. _This is going to be a disaster,_ Steve thought.

Rural America left little to be desired for a first date – well, one fit for Tony Stark. In fact, even thinking of the word _date_ was enough to keep Steve up for the past few nights, Tony slumbering peacefully besides him.

Months ago, in the midst of their battle with HYDRA and the FBI, the thought was so far from his mind, it was almost laughable. Now, the threat of domesticity was almost daunting. Steve barely knew what to do with his hands without having to hold a gun, let alone plan and maintain a steady relationship.

And things with Tony have been good – they’ve been _so_ good. The first day, in that sprawling mansion – no Tony, it’s _not_ a cabin – Steve had wondered how they would make the switch into a more stagnant schedule. He waited for the growing tension. Sure, he and Tony had already been living together, but each day was another job, another fight, and was more than enough to keep them busy. And it wasn’t as if he and Tony had a lot in common, or shared life experience for that matter.

But it never came. One day turned to two, to three, to weeks. His days had been filled with nothing but Tony, healing with him, smiling with him, laughing with him. Living with him.

Even now, every day crammed in a smelly car on a race against time, Steve couldn’t keep the smile off his face. When Tony had first brought up the idea of a normal life, one that he’d consider sharing with Steve, Steve had agreed wholeheartedly, but soon cast it from his mind. _In another life. Not mine._ HYDRA and the FBI had them backed against the wall. There weren’t any hopes about getting out, just hopes to stay alive long enough to end it.

 _But they’d won._ They’d done it, and Steve got to wake up every morning and remind himself that it wasn’t another life. _It was his._ Each day brought more and more selfish thoughts, ones that questioned if heading back to New York was even worth it. Sure, he missed his family like a missing limb, but this trip seemed to have quieted his protective instincts. Just a smile from Tony and a ‘ _we’ll figure it out’_ seemed to be the only thing he needed.

Which is how he ended up in this situation. Tony had taken such care of him, of them. It was _his_ idea to make this trip, _his_ idea to get everyone back in contact. _His_ idea to risk everything for the family. Love and pride sang through his chest every time he thought of what Tony’s done for them. _How much he owed him._

It was then that he thought of the date. The date he _owed_ Tony. Tony hadn’t mentioned anything; why would he? But Steve had promised him, so Steve would deliver. But how does one plan a date for a billionaire? Let alone planning a date while flying under the radar and being limited to small cash purchases only. Besides, Tony said he’s clearly been joking about the camping and – Steve huffed out a breath, his shoulders deflating.

They had been halfway through Arkansas when Steve had seen it. He’d pulled into a gas station and left the car to fill up with a still sleeping Tony inside. Walking idly through the dirty aisles was mainly to stretch his legs, warily eyeing the questionable merchandise, but he couldn’t help but do a double take when he saw it.  

It wasn’t even the product itself – in fact, said product was just another grimy neck pillow that yet again claimed to be voted best on the market. No, it was the cheesy stock photo that was at the center of the packaging. It was hardly different than what he had probably seen a million times before – a fake couple snuggled together next to a fake fire, with fake smiles to match. But for the life of him, Steve couldn’t help but think of Tony. Couldn’t help but think of his eyes glowing against the bright flames, or how warm his body would feel as he snuggled up next to Steve’s under the stars.

And well, considering it was the first idea he had in days, he just ran with it. _Camping by Steve,_ at the time, seemed like the best thing since sliced bread. Every time they would stop for gas or rest, Steve would always find time to slip away and buy more items for the evening – never let it be said that Steve was a cheap date. He’d even convinced Tony to switch cars, changing over to a truck. Tony, of course, didn’t question the change, or the growing pile of bags that filled up the flat bed. Tony was amazingly oblivious when he needed to be.

By the time they’d reached Casey, Steve had gotten everything he could think of, hoping that the weird structures that littered the town would be enough to tire Tony out for tonight. _Here goes nothing._

“Okay,” Steve said, checking over his work one final time. “We’re ready to go.” He shook the negative thoughts from his head and opened Tony’s door. The man was slumped as far down in his seat as he could, his upper body contorted like a pretzel for his legs to stretch out and press against the glass of the windshield. Steve had fussed at him multiple times about putting his shoes on the dash, so he took this, along with the smug look on Tony’s face, as a silent retaliation for having to wait. “You are such a child,” he snorted.

“I don’t like to be ignored,” Tony pouted, crossing his arms. Steve caught a flash of color in the other man’s hand.

“What’s this?” he grinned. “I thought the Rubik’s Cube was below your pay grade?”

Tony chucked it in the back seat nonchalantly. “I was just messing with it. No biggie.”

“You haven’t figured it out, have you?” Steve chuckled.

Tony narrowed his eyes. “Alright then, hot shot, let’s see you do it!”

“No time,” Steve answered, grabbing Tony’s hand. “It’s date night.”

“What? Is there another large mailbox you want me to look at?” Tony asked sarcastically.

“Alright, alright, I get it,” Steve said. “Now, close your eyes.”

“Get what? I had a _great_ time, and- ”

“Close your eyes.”

“Steve.”

“Please?”

Tony sighed, but obliged. “If this is where you shove a pie in my face, you’re walking home.”

Steve leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the corner of Tony’s mouth, watching it tick up into a smile as he pulled away. “Not quite,” he replied. “You trust me?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

Steve rolled his eyes, intertwining a hand with Tony’s gently tugging the man to walk forward. _The moment of truth._ It was ridiculous, but Steve didn’t think he had ever been this nervous. Even knowing that, despite Tony’s grumbling he would never say anything bad about what Steve put together. He’d still claim to enjoy it, for Steve’s sake. The thought of that, however, sat worse in Steve’s stomach than rejection. Steve stopped Tony right in front of the fire.

“Okay. You can open them, now.”

Steve watched as Tony took everything in. Worst case, Tony would look at the camp like he did the mailbox – and well, anything they stopped to look at today. However, Tony’s face was carefully blank, like the wires in his head got crossed, and he wasn’t sure what to feel. The silence was deafening, and it kept getting longer. Steve swallowed around another bout of uncertainty. “You’re making a fella nervous,” Steve laughed anxiously. “Do you like it?”

Tony jolted at Steve’s question, as if he was in a trance. “You did all this?” _For me?_ was left unsaid.

“No, this is just what nature really looks like,” Steve chided.

Tony didn’t even bother with a reply, looking back at the scene in front of him, eyes darting as he took in each part. “Can I?” Tony asked, shooting a questioning glance at Steve. Another smart retort died on his lips, and Steve just smiled, nodding. He’d seen this happen a few times with Tony. It was strange seeing him this way, a man usually so proud and domineering, now shy, and almost nervous. It was a habit that Steve hated. One that spoke volumes of a broken childhood. One absent of love.

It wasn’t the act of a gift, itself. Tony had spent almost his entire life being showered with shiny and expensive things. But Steve knew those things meant nothing to him. They were all empty, tokens of fake admiration and false loyalty.

Months ago, when Steve sat at Tony’s bedside as he healed from his kidnapping, he found himself whittling a small sculpture for the injured man. The idea had hit him out of the blue – much like the camping plan. He had been walking into the speakeasy when he saw a lump of wood in a passing alleyway. It was strange to see something this far into the city that wasn’t premanufactured wood; this looked like it was a branch that was ripped right from the tree just hours before. Steve stared at it and thought, _Tony would like something from this._

To be honest, he was shit at whittling. He liked the idea of the art form and foolishly assumed that as an amateur artist, he was a master at using all medias. He was horrendously wrong. Dugan has showed him – God rest his soul – after Steve saw him doing it one day. He’d learned from his father, who’d learned from his father, and so on, as a way to pass the time on the farm. Dugan always held the knife so steady, carving in even the smallest of intricacies. He was a good teacher, but Steve was a hopeless student. He remembered the first thing he’d made, giving it to Dugan. _Something only a mother could love,_ Dugan had laughed.

Steve had given up on the concept pretty quickly but found himself whittling in the corner of Tony’s room, waiting for the man to wake up. Maybe he just needed something to do with his hands, something to distract him from Tony’s injuries, or the Ten Ring members Bucky was hiding in the basement.

He presented it to Tony nervously, once he figured out there wasn’t anything he could do to save the disaster that was his sculpture. It was a car – well, it was supposed to be. One of the many hot rods that Tony owned. He remembered how Tony had held it gently, staring at it with wide eyes when Steve said he could keep it.  

 _“I don’t want to ruin it,”_ Tony had whispered with wide eyes.

It was then that Steve had finally understood. The carved wood was cheap, and it looked more like a wrinkled sponge than a car, but Tony still treated it like it was as fragile as glass. The last Steve had seen it, it had taken up a coveted spot on Tony’s desk in his workshop. But it wasn’t the gift himself. It was what it stood for.

Tony could probably count on his fingers the number of times that he had been given anything out of love. And after watching Tony cradle the carving against his chest, Steve vowed to get Tony to look that way as much as possible.

He wore the same face now, walking slowly around the makeshift campsite. Steve found himself blinking away a few tears that threatened to spill over.

“Burgers?” Tony smiled, looking from the grill to Steve.

Steve nodded. “Thought you might be hungry. Fair warning, though; I’ve never made a hamburger myself, before. Although, I’m pretty sure it’s just a flat meatball, so I think I’ll be able to figure it out.”

Tony giggled, looking through the other items in the cooler. “And marshmallows?” he asked slowly. “Never really thought about them going with cheeseburgers, before.”

“No, it’s for S’mores. They’re a camping necessity.”

Tony furrowed his brow. “S’mores?”

“You’ve never had one?”

Tony shook his head. Steve swallowed around another wave of grief passed that through him. Instead, he plastered on a smile and walked over to Tony. “Here, I’ll teach you how to make them. You’re going to love ‘em. I’ve never been able to manage a double decker S’more, but that engineering degree you have might actually come in handy for once.”

“Degrees, Steve. I have degrees,” Tony huffed with a roll of his eyes. “And what do you mean for once? I’ll have you know that- ”

Steve stopped the complaint with a kiss. “Want me to teach you how to make a S’more?”

“Just so I can rub it in your face that I can make them better than you? I thought you’d never ask.”

Steve laughed, grabbing the marshmallows, any doubt of Tony’s disappointment slipping out of his mind.

* * *

It was late, and there was a steady breeze, but Steve wasn’t cold, feeling Tony lay next to him in the bed of the truck, surrounded by pillows and blankets. Dinner was somewhat undercooked, and dessert was a disaster, but Steve never remembered smiling as much as he did.

The pair were snuggled together, looking up at the sky, while their sticky marshmallowed hands intertwined under the thick blanket covering them. The whiskey bottle sat between them, but Steve found himself enjoying the taste off Tony’s mouth, rather than straight from the bottle.

 _In fact,_ he thought as he leaned down to steal another kiss from Tony.

“Ugh, you still taste like burnt wood.”

“Tony, it’s not that- ”

“I still can’t believe you did that. That there are people out there that _actually_ consider that edible.”

“Tony- ”

“You torched the marshmallows, Steve. You let them turn all black and _gross,_ and then you ate them.”

“Considering you just learned about S’mores today, I don’t think that you can pass judgement on how people eat them.”

“Or,” Tony countered. “You’re just jealous that I’m a master already. All of my S’mores had a perfect golden brown to them, making them gooey perfection. Even Gordon Ramsey would cry.”

“What about the one that fell into the fire?”

Tony smacked him on the chest. “We don’t talk about that one.”

Steve shook his head and chuckled, nosing into Tony’s hair, the smell of his shampoo mixing with the scent of bonfire. “People can make their S’mores however they like. I just like mine a little crispy.”

“Crispy?” Tony gawked. “Steve you sent your marshmallows to the fiery pits of Hell. I mean, you aimed right for the center of the fire. If there was ever a question as to how you ended up as a mob boss, they’ve all been answered no. This just screams childhood trauma.”

Steve scoffed. “Tony, I told you to stop watching those cop shows.”

“They’re always on in the motels! What do you want to do, just stare at the ceiling?”

“You can just admit that you like them.”

“I don’t,” Tony answered quickly. “No one likes procedural cop shows.”

“If nobody likes them, then why do they make so many?”

“I just think people realize how educational they are.”

“Is that so?” Steve smiled.

“Absolutely. Here’s a question for you. If I were to go over there and stick my hand in the fire would you be upset?”

“Right now? Probably not.”

“Aha!” Tony cried, poking Steve in the stomach. “Sociopath. I knew it.”

“You caught me,” Steve said with a roll of his eyes, tugging Tony back down to lean across his chest. Silence descended between the pair, the quiet only broke by the crackle of the dimming fire, and an owl sounding from deep in the woods. 

“Thank you.” It was said so quietly, quiet enough that Steve had to think for a second to make sure he didn’t make it up.

“Did you like it?” he whispered back. 

“Loved it. Every bit. Even that dumb mailbox.”

Steve huffed out a deep breath. “That’s good to hear. You had me worried a few times. Wasn’t sure I passed your first date standards.”

“Well, you passed. With flying colors, if a may add.”

“I’m glad,” Steve smiled.

“I can’t see what you throw together next time.”

Steve snorted. “Next time?”

“Of course,” Tony replied, wriggling closer. “Not sure why you thought this was a one-time occurrence. I expect to be wined and dined.”

“Rich boy,” Steve murmured, hiding his smile in Tony’s hair.

“Plebeian.”

“I really gotta go through all this again?”

Tony shot him a dry look. “You do understand how dating works, right?”

“Not really, no,” he smiled in return.

Tony’s eyes crinkled as he chuckled. “Yeah, well, neither do I.”

“Oh really? The great Tony Stark admitting he doesn’t know something? First the Rubik’s Cube, now this?”

“Don’t push it, Rogers,” Tony grumbled, digging his knuckles into Steve’s side. “It’s a good thing you’ve got your looks, because that mouth is nothing but trouble.”

“I don’t know. I seem to recall a few occasions where you’ve seemed to like my troublesome mouth,” Steve replied, lips trailing over Tony’s neck.

“Prove it,” Tony murmured, tilting his head so their lips could meet in a long kiss.

Steve hummed happily, greedily dipping into Tony’s mouth, wrapping the smaller man up in his arms until Tony pulled away from air. The brunette dipped back down, snuggling into Steve’s chest.

“Now what?” Tony asked.

“Not sure,” Steve answered. “You could just talk.”

“Talk?”

“I like hearing you talk.”

“I’ll remember that next time we get in an argument,” Tony yawned. “What do you want me to talk about?”

“Anything. The stars.”

Tony sighed. “Steve, I appreciate the fact that you think my genius knows no bounds, but I don’t know anything about the stars.”

“Make something up.”

Tony twisted, turning to meet Steve’s gaze. “You’re serious,” he said, eyes narrowing as Steve nodded. “You really just want me to make shit up about the galaxy because you like hearing me talk.”

“Yes,” Steve answered, feeling his ears turn pink. Tony’s gaze softened, tilting his head back to look at the sky.

“Well, you know the basics. That one up there is the North Star. I think. The group it’s by makes a frying pan. Or a toaster, I can never remember.”

Steve bit back a laugh, hiding his face into Tony’s neck. “A toaster. Really?”

“Yes, really. You’re telling me that you can look up there and decidedly say that you _can’t_ see a toaster?”

“You know what? I can’t.”

“Steve, you’re not even looking.”

“I trust your judgement.”

Tony paused, digesting Steve’s statement. “Well, you’re a smart man,” he finally said, directing the conversation to saver territory. “Now that one,” he said grabbing Steve’s hand to point at another cluster. “That’s Taurus. It involves some guy and a bull.”

Steve somewhat remembered reading that somewhere. “Didn’t he turn into a bull?”

“No, he just had a cock as big as one.”

Steve couldn’t help it this time, deep belly laughs emanating from his chest, Tony joining in with him. They laid there for hours, Tony talking, _bullshitting_ really, but Steve listened to every word, taking in every second with the man that he loved. Eventually Tony dropped off to sleep, curled into Steve’s chest.

There was something about watching Tony sleep that always struck a fire inside him. Letting Steve see him at his most vulnerable without thinking twice, trusting that Steve would always have his back. _No one else gets this but me. Only me._

Steve leaned down and kissed his head, lips lingering in the soft locks. “I love you,” he whispered. “More than you could ever know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, all the fluff. 
> 
> I urge you to look up all the 'World's Largest' objects in Casey, Illinois. I love them all. 
> 
> Also, what team are you on? I'm a heathen, and I'm on team #burntmallow. Golden brown marshmallows are good, but nothing can beat the crunch of a burnt marshmallow on a S'more.


End file.
